


Interpersonal Relationships Are Hard

by galaxysoup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sex Talk, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/pseuds/galaxysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel loses his virginity, Dean loses his grip, and the gap between human and angelic social conventions is discovered to be less of a benign crack in the pavement and more of a yawning chasm filled with metaphysics and needlessly specific vocabulary choices. And then there's an epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castiel loses his Virginity

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started writing this before Season 9 aired, in response to the fandom kerfuffle over rumors of Castiel finally having sex, and then I decided to hold off on posting it until [Asexual Awareness Week](http://chess-ka.tumblr.com/post/63315448027/there-seems-to-be-a-fair-amount-of-interest-in-fanworks). I wrote it from the point of view of a) being asexual myself, b) comedy, and c) what I thought the characters might reasonably do in this situation. Hopefully I have managed a balance between The Winchester Talking Squick and Sam’s Need To Be Supportive(™).
> 
> All that having been said, though, if you think I’ve mishandled anything _please_ let me know!
> 
> ETA: Directly following on to the sentence above, it's been brought to my attention that the way Cas loses his virginity is unsettling if you're not expecting it. So, to be clear: Cas does not lose his virginity to Dean. It happens offscreen before the start of the story, and the rest of the story is very much Dean/Cas.

Although he would never describe himself in such terms, Castiel is a courageous being. He has never shirked his duty, whether that be rescuing a soul from Hell or going to his certain death in battle. He does not flinch in the face of combat and although it is sometimes tempting he does not shy away from confrontations of a more emotional nature either.

It is remarkable, therefore, that he has to pause and collect himself before entering the motel room he is currently sharing with the brothers Winchester.

When he does go in, it’s to find himself the subject of immediate scrutiny. Sam is stretched out on the bed with his laptop, and as Castiel comes through the door he looks up from his work to give Castiel his attention. Dean, seated at the table by the window, is much less circumspect. He immediately drops the knife he’s been sharpening, sits forward, and says “Well? How did it go?”

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam groans from the bed. “You’re like a little old grandma waiting for gossip, it’s absurd.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says without looking at him. “So? Cas?”

Aware of the gravity of the moment, Castiel chooses his words with great care.

“It was… moist.”

They stare at him. Realizing that this must not have been the correct response, Castiel searches frantically for a new descriptor.

“... Sweaty?”

Sam and Dean trade glances. “I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Sam says finally, “But did you actually, you know, _have sex_ this time?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, on firmer ground now.

“You didn’t agree to be interviewed for her thesis instead?” Dean clarifies.

“Or spend the entire time arguing about the role of religion in modern society?”

“No,” Castiel says. “Although one of her tattoos indicated an interest in ancient Mesopotamian culture, I refrained from conversation and instead penetrated her with my -”

“ _Whoa!”_ Dean shouts. “Whoa there, Casanova, no details, okay?”

Castiel frowns at the hypocrisy of this statement, and with an internal sigh sets it aside as Exhibit 376-G in his ongoing collection of ‘humans are incomprehensible’ data.

“Dean, where the hell did you send him?” Sam says rolling his eyes at his brother. “If all he can come up with is ‘moist’ and ‘sweaty’ -”

“Hey,” Dean says, affronted. “I sent him someplace good! I wouldn’t just send him _anywhere_. Not for his first time.”

“Well, he obviously didn’t enjoy himself.”

“No, he’s just being, you know, Cas-ish.” Dean turns back to Castiel and gives him what can only be described as a ‘leer’. “The real question is: did you have fun?”

Castiel considers this.

“No.”

“‘No’.” Dean repeats flatly, smirk vanishing.

“The momentary release of endorphins was pleasurable, but it doesn’t seem like enough of a draw to justify the rest of the endeavor,” Castiel explains.

“Okay, Cas,” Sam says, and although he sets his laptop aside and leans forward he looks extremely reluctant to continue talking. “We never really covered this, but we probably should have asked. Do you - do you _like_ women?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, confused. He has met several women who are wonderful people possessed of exceptional souls.

“What I mean is… do you, maybe, are you attracted to guys?”

“ _Sam,”_ Dean moans. “Oh my God.”

“Shut up, Dean, it’s a legitimate question and you should be more supportive,” Sam snaps.

“Well,” Castiel says uncertainly. “It’s true that I have spent more time in the company of human males than I have with human females.” He studies the brothers to see if this is adequate. Dean’s face is hidden behind his hands and Sam’s expression is one of pained but determined interest. “You are both aesthetically pleasing and Bobby’s soul was very unique,” he offers finally.

Dean chokes. Sam’s face turns an interesting shade of red. “But, but do you want to have sex with any of us?” he manages.

Well, that’s an easy question, at least. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

“Maybe we should find him a guy, just to be sure,” Sam says to Dean.

“I am _begging_ you to stop,” Dean says in a strangled voice.

Castiel sighs. He’d really hoped that once he had sex Dean and Sam would get over this strange obsession with his bodily functions. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone.”

Dean peeks through his fingers. “You kissed Meg that one time.”

Castiel blinks. “She kissed me first. Was that not the proper response? The video we saw indicated it was.”

“And you got a boner when you saw porn!”

“Wasn’t I supposed to?”

Dean removes his hands from his face entirely. “Is this an angel thing? Because Gabriel seemed pretty sex-friendly. And Anna. And didn’t you say that Balthazar -”

“Cas,” Sam says, rallying again. “Have you ever… wanted to, to do anything about having a, you know? Boner?”

“‘Do anything’?” Castiel repeats. Humans can be so vague sometimes, it’s honestly maddening. “You mean masturbate? Not really. Just as with intercourse, the endorphins are pleasant but the mess isn’t worth it.”

“And future you was _super_ okay with sex,” Dean continues, apparently not listening. “You were organizing a freaking _orgy_.”

“Dude, future Cas was obviously just trying to get future you’s attention,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Future your attention? Anyway, I think Cas is asexual. You know, he’s just not interested? Some people are wired that way, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Does it make you feel better to have a word for it?” Castiel asks politely. Maybe this means they’ll stop worrying.

Sam laughs. “We won’t try to hook you up with anybody else, Cas.” He casts a pointed look at his brother. “I promise. But if you do meet somebody you’d like to, you know, you should go for it anyway.”

“Thank you for your permission, Sam,” Castiel says dryly. “May I go back to my research now?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“ _So much alcohol_ is necessary for me right now,” Dean moans.


	2. Dean loses his Grip

Okay, so Dean doesn’t always come off as the most open-minded of guys. And, okay, so that can kind of get worse when something really throws him for a loop, like - random example - Sam sexing up demons or Cas hitching his wagon to Crowley’s fun train of evil (both of which, for the record, were _spectacularly awful_ ideas and Dean was totally right about them).

But, see, he’s not unreasonable and he’s not _mean_ , and as an aside Sammy is officially voted off the Best Little Brothers list for, like, _ever_.

“I’m not saying that I think you’ll be a dick on purpose,” Sam says, scrubbing his hands through his stupid floofy hair, and Dean takes a moment to be proud of himself for still being the one person who can consistently irritate Sam this severely. “I’m saying you _might_ do it _by accident_ and we could avoid that by being informed!”

Dean makes a face. “Dude. Man’s sex life is his own business. I’m not reading some ‘Asexuality 101’ handbook, it would be creepy.”

“Yeah, and where was that attitude last night?” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “You were _all over_ his sex life when you were grilling him about losing his virginity.”

Dean spontaneously breaks out into hives. “ _Stop_ , oh my God.”

Sam sighs and looks tired, which is totally dirty pool because Dean is still trying to tone down his post-trial take-care-of-Sammy reflexes and the need to do whatever it takes to make his brother feel better is so ingrained that he has to stamp down _hard_ on the impulse to capitulate immediately and just read the damn pamphlet or whatever.

“No. End of discussion,” Dean says firmly, and walks away before Sam can bust out the puppy eyes.

And the thing is, Dean really doesn’t care. Cas doesn’t want sex? Great, more for the rest of them, and Dean hadn’t really been looking forward to mediating all the interpersonal stuff that would come with Cas dating anyway. Man gets into enough trouble during casual conversation, the idea of the mess he could make out of hook-ups is actually pretty terrifying. And oh, God. What if Dean ever had to explain STDs to him? _Jesus_. Or even worse, what if Cas ever fell in love? Cas cares _way_ too much - about dick angels who hate him and about random strangers he’s never even met, and look at the horrible things he’s been through just because he’s fond of the Winchesters. Dean hadn’t been kidding when he told Kevin that angels who try to feel too much get destroyed by it. If Cas ever got his heart broken he’d be a total wreck. 

No, it’s better that he’s, you know. Uninterested.

Dean’s level of coolness with the whole thing is all fine and dandy and not an issue right until they go up against a really annoying wendigo who seems to require his meat to be tenderized before he chows down. Dean spends way longer than he should being bounced off every available surface while Cas and Sam scrabble through the undergrowth to find the dropped lighter, and by the time they get back to the hotel all Dean really requires is a) alcohol, b) to lie down, and c) for Cas and Sam to stop with the tragedy eyes already.

He wakes up several hours later feeling - well, yes, in pain, but also warm and safe and more relaxed than he’s felt in, God, months. Possibly _years_. His head’s resting on something firm but comfortable, and there’s a reassuringly steady _thump, thump_ under his ear.

He opens his eyes. Cas is lying next to him on the bed. He’s reading a book with a graphic woodcut illustration of someone’s entrails being used for a ritual, which Dean can see very clearly because his head is on Cas’s chest.

Dean freezes. “Cas. What are you doing?”

“I am comforting you,” Cas says calmly, and wow, his voice is even deeper when Dean’s ear is right against his chest. It’s kind of unfair. “The internet says this is one of the ways it can be done. Since your injuries are at least partly my fault, it only seemed right.”

Dean raises his head and leans back, which is complicated by the fact that about 90% of his body is bruised and also by the way Cas has one arm around his back.

“Okay,” he says. His brain seems to be mostly made of static, which is deeply unhelpful. “Uh. Thanks.”

Cas gives him a small, pleased smile. “I also asked Sam to go get some ice cream. I understand that’s traditional.”

Jesus. Sammy’s probably outside right now, laughing himself sick. “Usually that’s for, um, broken hearts and dentistry, I think,” Dean says slowly. Cas’s face falls. “But it does sound good,” he adds hastily.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Cas says, satisfied, and raises the hand behind Dean’s back to push his head down again. “I will comfort you until Sam returns.”

“Actually, I have to use the can,” Dean babbles, and somehow manages to flee without alarming Cas further or, even more important, letting him come into the bathroom. He misses the warm solidity of Cas’s body immediately.

It takes Sam a really long time to come back with the ice cream. Dean spends most of it hyperventilating and pretending to take a shower.

It’s entirely coincidence that Dean takes the opportunity to go out looking for a little easy company the next night. He’s still bruised all to hell, but he feels edgy and irritable and the weird looks Sam keeps giving him do _not_ help. It’s clear that he’s just a little touch-starved right now, and he knows how to deal with that. The fact that he’s become hyper-aware of Cas’s presence is just a coincidence and another reason that Cas’s personal space issues are a giant pain in the ass. It’s not a problem at all. It isn’t.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice anything’s different. Dean’s not sure what to do with that.

The bar he finds is a nice one - popular, energetic, and with a pretty wide mix of people. Dean drinks his first beer while surveying the crowd and picking out potential partners. He’s just about decided to start with the gorgeous girl by the pool tables in a short skirt and really intricate braids when he spots the person drinking alone just beyond her.

The guy, to be more specific. The guy with dark hair, stubble, and what Dean’s pretty sure are blue eyes.

Dean doesn’t have a lot of experience with guys, but he’s not clueless, either. He’s even given a blowjob once, mostly because he was very drunk and had really wanted one in return. He hadn’t even freaked out afterwards, because what’s to freak out about a nice orgasm? Guys have never really done it for him - he knows what attraction feels like, and at least in theory it should be pretty much the same if it’s sparked by boobs as it does when sparked by… pecs? Dicks? Dean’s not sure, because it’s never really been his thing. But hey. Yolo, or whatever dumbass thing the kids are saying these days.

He sidles up to the guy, flashes his best smile, and somehow manages to say “Hey” instead of “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” because, wow. Inappropriate.

The sex with Random Not-Cas is fine. It isn’t either Earth-shattering or traumatic. As Dean steps out into the night and heads back to the motel, he remembers what Cas said about sex in general: the endorphins are nice enough, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth. He kind of gets that now, and to be honest, it’s pretty reassuring. Whatever weird thing Cas’s version of comfort sparked in his head, it’s not about having sex with guys.

He doesn’t sleep very well that night, though. His bed is too hard and he gets cold and the _silence_ , of all things, starts making him bugnuts. He finally ends up sleeping in the back seat of the Impala with the radio on, because it’s at least _supposed_ to be hard and cold.

He wakes up early enough the next morning to sneak back into the motel room, and then Sam sends them on a witch hunt. To be more specific, they go in thinking it’s a Trickster (a real one this time and not an archangel in disguise, because Gabriel’s, you know, dead), and they find out along the way that it’s a witch. When she captures them and vaporises their weapons. Yeah. It’s _that_ kind of day.

It is, as an aside, one of the really nice things about now being a three-man team instead of a two-man one, because while Dean gets himself surrounded by a barrier of sparking energy, the placement of which also traps Sam at the end of the hallway, Cas is still free somewhere to rescue them. This becomes more important when the witch comes to laugh at them.

“All right, you got us,” Dean says, glaring. “Now what?”

The witch smirks. “Now I tell you how to get out.”

Well. That smirk says nothing good about their futures. 

“Okay, how?” Sam says warily.

The smirk turns into a full-fledged grin. “All you need is for his true love to reach in and pull him out.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Dean says incredulously, because really? Who makes a trap with a weakness like that? Sam is _right behind him_ and they may have had their troubles but he’s pretty sure Sam loves him. “What, did you read too many fairy tales as a kid?”

There’s a flash and a sizzle, and Sam jumps back from the barrier and jams his injured hand under his armpit. So much for that plan.

“True _romantic_ love, genius,” the witch says, rolling her eyes.

“Dude,” Dean says, making eyebrows at Sam, “Becky would be super disappointed right now.” It gets him a bitchface, but it’s worth it.

“And before you say it’s a dumb idea,” the witch continues, ignoring them, “name me a pair of hunters who truly love each other.”

There’s an embarrassingly long silence while they try to think of someone, _anyone_ , in the hunting community with a true love partner who isn’t dead.

“All right,” Dean says grudgingly. “It’s not the stupidest trap ever.”

“So why tell us?” Sam asks.

“‘Cause it’s funny?” the witch says, shrugging. “I need to kill time while I wait for the rarest ingredient in existence to show up? You pick.” She takes in their confused expressions and rolls her eyes again. “Do you have any idea how powerful your little ex-angel friend’s blood is? He’s been alive for billions of years, he’s still got a touch of divinity, and he’s human enough to bleed. He’s worth his weight in… himself, actually, and I have this crazy idea that he’d be willing to bargain for your release.”

Dean’s stomach goes cold. First, because some crazy witch wants to use Cas for fucking _parts_ which is a) messed up and b) terrible because now Dean will never stop being paranoid about it, and second because they have to find a way out of this _yesterday_ before Cas gets here. 

When has Cas ever not been willing to bleed for the Winchesters? Oh, right: never. He’ll probably hear the witch’s terms and _agree_. Dean cannot, _cannot_ watch him die again. He has had it up to fucking _here_ with watching the people he lo-

That, of course, is right when Cas comes looking for them because he’s finished searching the top floor and, in a shocking twist, found no sign of the witch.

“Cas, run!” Dean shouts, and _fucking ow_ touching that stupid sparky bubble _fucking smarts_. 

Cas’s gaze sharpens with worry and he starts towards them, because he’s an idiot. The witch gestures and the door behind Cas slams shut. Cas halts and gives the witch his Smiting Glare.

“What is this?” he grinds out.

“Maleficent here wants you for your body,” Dean says bitterly before the witch can answer. “Me, I’m just waiting for my Prince Charming.”

The Smiting Glare disappears under Cas’s annoyed confusion. “Very few of those words mean anything to me, Dean,” he says pointedly.

“Only Dean’s One True Love can get him out of there,” Sam translates, leaving off ‘the witch is willing to trade us for you’. He understands Cas’s self-sacrifice reflex just as well as Dean does.

“Oh,” Cas says. He reaches through the sparking energy, grabs Dean by the collar, and pulls him out. The barrier vanishes.

That would have been a really great time to take the witch by surprise, kill her, and then go for drinks, but they all stand around and stare at Cas in shocked silence instead.

“Huh,” the witch says finally. “I can honestly say I did not see that one coming.”

“Are you injured?” Cas asks Dean solicitously.

Dean is not injured. Dean is confused and _fucking pissed_. He pulls Cas’s gun out of the waistband of his pants and tries to shoot the witch, but she vanishes just ahead of the bullet. Of freaking course.

Cas’s hand is heavy and warm on the back of his neck. Dean can’t decide whether to be furious at him for not running, terrified that the witch is still out there, or… well. He doesn’t really have a name for the idea that Cas defeated a true love spell for him, but he suspects he doesn’t like it.

He splits the difference and howls “Sonovabitch!” as loudly as possible.

“I’m hungry,” Sam says suddenly. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

Dean and Cas turn to look at him in confusion. It’s barely midmorning and they had a sizeable breakfast - even Dean isn’t hungry yet. Also, since when has Sam’s reaction to emotional A-bombs _ever_ been to let Dean avoid talking about it?

(Dean is not, not, not thinking about what ‘it’ is. _Not._ )

“Pie and cheeseburgers,” Sam wheedles. “Come on.”

That oversized bastard traitor. Sam wants to trap him with food and make him talk that way.

Cas gives them both one of his x-ray looks and says “Yes,” and goddamnit now what’s Dean supposed to say? It’s been hard enough to get Cas to come around to the idea of needing human things like food and water and sleep. Dean can’t deny him food just because he would rather cut off his own left arm than be stuck at a restaurant table _in public_ with Sam right now.

“Fine, whatever,” Dean mutters, and pushes at Cas’s hand until he finally gets the hint and lets go. 

Maybe he can fake food poisoning and get away from Sam’s stupid girly Emoting Face that way.


	3. The gap between human and angelic social conventions is discovered to be less of a Benign Crack In The Pavement and more of a Yawning Chasm Filled With Metaphysics And Needlessly Specific Vocabulary Choices

The drive to the restaurant is completely silent. Sam spends it doing the speed-chess version of putting his thoughts in order. 

The surprising thing about this morning’s activities isn’t, frankly, that Cas’s blatantly obvious regard for Dean is romantic in nature. Dean might have refused to do any research into asexuality, but Sam wasn’t so closed-minded and he knows that sexual and romantic attraction are two very different things. No, the surprising part is that, from the poleaxed expression on his face, Dean didn’t realise there was anything more than friendship to Cas’s devotion. 

Honestly, Sam had always figured it was Dean’s insecurity complex and fixation on traditional masculinity that were always getting in the way, and he’s been telling himself for years that after the next catastrophe is over he should really sit Dean down for a talk. Given the intensity of their every interaction and the level of trust Dean continues to give Cas, it had never occurred to Sam that Dean wasn’t even _aware_. Now, the real question is going to be: will Dean admit he likes Cas back, or is he going to freak and turn it into a disaster?

Sidebar: how is Cas’s asexuality going to complicate things further, and can Sam possibly weasel out of figuring that part out for them? Because ew. Brother sex. Just, no.

This lunch is going to suck so much. Well, unless Sam can get them to talk and prevent this whole thing from festering and mutating and becoming A Thing, but come on. Since when has that ever actually worked for them?

They pull into the parking lot of the diner before Sam’s really able to formulate a workable plan of attack. It’s complicated by the fact that he’s not sure how much of a help Cas is going to be. He’s clearly more emotionally aware than Dean ‘no chick flick moments’ Winchester, but that’s hardly a high bar and it’s not like Cas has ever been _good_ at interpersonal stuff.

The battle starts as soon as they get into the diner. Dean beelines for a booth in the back corner and sits on the aisle edge of one side, giving Sam a look that says ‘go ahead and try to box me in’. Sam sighs and sits across from him, scooting in to leave room for Cas.

Cas, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents, moves confidently towards Dean’s side of the table.

“I can see the fish tank from this side,” he says.

Dean holds up for all of thirty seconds under the weight of Cas’s quietly pleased smile, and then mutters “Such a weirdo,” and scoots in.

Sam nearly swallows his own tongue in shock and sternly represses a nascent feeling of hope. “So,” he says, not fiddling with his silverware through extreme force of will, “About this morning. When Cas pulled Dean out of the trap.”

“God, Sam, you’re not even going to let me eat first?” Dean complains.

In response, Sam reaches out and grabs the sleeve of the first waitress to walk by. “Three slices of pie, please. Any kind.” Job done, he turns his attention to Cas. How to broach this delicately? It has to be clear enough for Cas to understand, but not use any words that will push Dean over the edge from irritated to belligerent. 

“So. How long have you been in love with Dean?”

Crap. Crap crappity fucking crap. That was _not_ it.

On the plus side, total incredulous apoplectic shock seems to be holding Dean immobile.

“Since I raised him from Perdition and remade him from soul to bones,” Cas says serenely. 

Holy shit. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Sam asks, gobsmacked. He’d known it had been a while, but he’d never guessed it was like _that_.

Cas looks confused. “I did. I left my mark on him.”

When neither Sam nor Dean is visibly struck by understanding, he reaches over and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, right where there had once been a raised red handprint. Dean twitches.

“I always wondered why I didn’t have one if you raised me too,” Sam says numbly.

Cas winces. “That… would have been awkward,” he says delicately.

Into this uncomfortable silence, the waitress delivers three slices of pie.

“So, what, we’ve been angel dating since we met?” Dean asks, his voice strained. Apparently unironically, he grabs the piece of apple pie, scrapes the whipped cream off onto the pumpkin slice, and pushes it over for Cas.

“Not just _angel_ dating,” Sam’s mouth says, independent of his brain. 

“He has, like, six billion years of whipped cream to catch up on,” Dean says, reddening. The contented noise Cas makes as he takes a bite of the pumpkin pie does not help Dean’s case much. “Shut up. So the handprint was, what, like a promise ring?”

Cas frowns at Sam.

“Uh,” Sam says, taking a bite of pie to cover his embarrassment. “A promise ring is sort of like a pre-engagement ring.”

“Ah,” Cas says, expression clearing. “No. In this analogy it would be a wedding ring.”

Stupid goddamn pie. Sam and Dean both start choking.

“I didn’t consent to that!” Dean rasps, grabbing for his water.

“You did,” Cas says, looking honestly hurt by the implied accusation. “Your soul responded gladly and joyfully. The trauma of your resurrection removed the memory from your consciousness, but I assure you that the mark would not have appeared had you not welcomed it.”

God help him, but Sam believes it. There are a lot of things in their lives that hurt too much to look at for long, and the way his brother has always just wanted a family is one of them. Fresh from Hell, with his usual defenses gone, Sam can only imagine how glad he must have been when Cas offered to claim him so completely.

Dean looks horrified. “When we first met I stabbed you,” he says. “And we shot you, like, a _lot_.”

“Is that important?” Cas says, watching Dean’s distress with something approaching alarm. “It was an understandable reaction and it didn’t hurt me.”

It’s really hard, sometimes, to remember not to ascribe human motivations and reactions to Castiel. Right now Sam’s imagining him, just after meeting and claiming his - his life-partner or whatever, walking in to be greeted with violence and indifference. 

“I did say we shared a profound bond,” Cas says, watching them both worriedly.

“Cas,” Sam says tiredly, “that may mean something slightly different in Enochian.”

Cas cocks his head to one side, the way he used to in the early days of his interactions with humanity. “Would ‘soul bond’ have been more illuminating?” he says after a few moments’ thought. 

“‘Angel married’ would have helped!” Dean says, only remembering at the last moment that they’re in public and he can’t actually yell.

Cas blinks. “And would that have changed anything about our interactions?”

Dean stares at him speechlessly. Sam steps into the breach. “Cas. To an angel, what exactly does being bonded mean?”

Cas considers this. “It’s difficult to put into words,” he says finally. “It means… belonging. Companionship. Eternity. There are overtones of safety as well.”

“Okay,” Sam says encouragingly. “Some of that’s the same, but ‘married’ does have some slightly different connotations to us.”

Cas nods. “I see. My apologies.” He turns to Dean. “I do not expect sexual intercourse from you or fidelity in sexual matters. You are free to continue as you wish, with your material possessions separate from my own. That may make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Dean says in a strangled voice. “‘Cause, Cas, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do you.”

 _Jesus God get me out of here,_ Sam doesn’t say by the narrowest of margins.

“I don’t want to ‘do’ you either, Dean,” Cas says solemnly, and then looks down. Sam squints. In he… blushing? “If… I would not mind if you… needed comfort again, though.”

 _Comfort?_ Sam thinks, and abruptly remembers the determined way Cas had insisted on lying down with Dean after the wendigo thing just because the internet told him so. At the time, Sam had written it off as Cas being Cas and, tangentially, being _hilarious_ , but now that he thinks about it Cas had looked a little melancholy when Sam got back and Dean was pretending to be in the shower.

“You… just want to cuddle?” Dean says, his voice hitting an octave he hasn’t had access to since middle school.

“I understand if that’s too much to ask,” Cas says quickly.

Dean eyes the ceiling, then the far wall, then the back of the booth. He scrupulously avoids both Sam and Cas. “Okay, whatever,” he says finally to the table. “If you want to. I guess that’s fine.” Cas smiles at him, relieved, and Dean clears his throat in embarrassment.

Sam blinks. Holy crap, did it actually work? Was the talking thing actually successful for the first time ever? Awesome. _He_ is awesome. He’s the best brother ever. He’s definitely the best brother-in-law, considering he just hooked Cas up with the most emotionally unavailable man in North America _and_ on the basis of soul bonds and cuddling instead of sex.

Of course, to be specific, he’s the best _little_ brother ever.

“Hey, we can stop paying for two rooms again if you guys are shacking up!” He says brightly.

The betrayed glares are totally worth it.


	4. The Epilogue, as promised

It’s not until Dean insists on paying for dinner that Castiel realises there might be a reason for his strangely tense behavior all night.

“Dean. Are we on a date?”

Dean’s face goes through a series of expressions. “No.” he says finally.

Castiel frowns. “You’re wearing a clean shirt.”

“Hey, I wear clean shirts a lot!”

“You just paid for dinner.”

“ _You_ don’t have any money.”

“You pulled my chair out for me when we sat down.”

That one stops Dean short. Castiel sits back in triumph. “We _are_ on a date.” Charlie was right - watching romantic comedies is very informative.

Dean rubs the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. “Okay, maybe. It might have some date-like parts.”

Castiel smiles. “It’s very nice of you to include me in the companionship rituals of your culture.” Dean has been worryingly unnerved by the ‘angel marriage’. In between laughing hysterically, Sam had told Cas to give it time and to try not to sound like a middle-school girl with her first crush. Castiel is hopeful that this date is a sign that Dean is starting to become comfortable with the true nature of their profound bond.

“Way to make it sound like a term paper,” Dean mutters. 

Castiel shrugs apologetically. “Angels don’t have a corresponding tradition. I have done research, though.”

Dean looks surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Castiel considers what he knows of post-dinner date activities from Charlie’s recommendations. “I would rather not go to make-out point, if that’s all right.”

Dean gives a startled bark of laughter. “Uh, no. No sucking face, I promise. I was thinking we could go to a movie.”

“I would like to see a movie,” Castiel agrees. Dean seems much more relaxed now. “I’ve never seen one in a theater.”

“Really?” Dean says. “Okay then. It’s been a while since I’ve gone, but I think I still remember how to do it right.”

‘Doing it right’ involves more food. Castiel does discover a fondness for the popcorn, although to Dean’s disappointment he prefers it to the licorice. After they settle into their seat, Dean gives Castiel a speculative look.

“Did that research tell you what happens in movie theaters during dates?”

Castiel gives Dean a stern look. “We’re not in the back row.”

Dean grins and fakes an exaggerated yawn that coincidentally ends with his arm across the back of Castiel’s seat. “From here I’d be perfectly positioned to start groping your boob after the previews.”

Castiel snorts into his popcorn. Dean’s arm feels warm and heavy against his back. It’s nice. “Watch the movie, Dean.”

Castiel enjoys the movie very much. It’s all about the triumph of companionship and love in the face of endemic chaos. Dean likes the monsters and giant robots. By the time the heroes save the day and survive to greet each other in the world they have preserved, Dean’s arm has tightened around Castiel’s shoulders and Castiel is pressed up against Dean’s side. It’s very comfortable.

It had been something of a surprise for him to discover how pleasant touch could be. Angels do not exist on the physical plane in the same way humans do unless they’ve taken hosts, and even then it’s very different from pure humanity. The other day Dean had run his hands through Castiel’s hair to try and get it to behave, and it had felt _wonderful_. Sam had accused him of purring like a cat.

Dean’s awkwardness returns once they leave the theater. From the movies, Castiel knows that under normal circumstances Dean would now either kiss him goodnight at the door or they would have sex.

“We could go to a bar,” Castiel offers. “We could find someone to have sex with you. I’ll be your ‘wingman’.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks and stares. “ _What?”_

Castiel winces. That must have been the wrong word. “I apologize. I know that at this point in a date some kind of sexual activity is customary. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of it.”

“Wow,” Dean says flatly. “So. I guess monogamy’s not an angel thing, huh?”

Castiel frowns. “I know sex is important to you, Dean. It doesn’t seem fair to take away something you love just because it isn’t something I also enjoy.”

“I do like sex,” Dean says slowly, “and I know I’ve got a habit of one-night stands, but if I’m in a relationship I don’t cheat, okay?”

Castiel smiles. “Then don’t get angel married to any of your partners.”

Dean laughs a little, shaking his head. “Okay, how about we revisit this topic later? You’re totally killing the mood here, man.”

“My apologies. Perhaps we’d better hold hands as we walk home.”

It’s a good night for a walk and the motel isn’t far. Castiel is glad now that Sam had borrowed the Impala. They’re mostly quiet as they walk, although they do discuss the movie a little. Dean declares that he wants a giant robot.

They slow as they approach the motel. The lights are on in their room - Sam has returned from the library. Dean pulls them to a stop as they reach the door.

“This is usually when you’d kiss me good night, I think,” Castiel says, his stomach clenching with nerves. He’s not sure about kissing Dean. He hasn’t liked most of the kisses he’s had. Having someone else’s tongue in his mouth is invasive and seems very unsanitary.

Dean cups the back of Castiel’s neck with one hand. He leans forward and presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead. It feels like a benediction, a welcoming, a reassurance. Castiel exhales shakily and grips Dean’s forearm in gratitude.

Dean pulls back and gives him a conspiratorial smile. “Wanna go in and totally freak Sammy out with made-up overshare?”

Castiel laughs. “All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Dean and Cas go see in the Epilogue is _Pacific Rim_. It’s magically back in theaters in time to appear in this story. Just go with it.


End file.
